


Celestial Nightmare

by theackles



Series: destiel drabbles [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels Are Known, Angel Castiel, Angel Wings, Angels are not Dicks, Baby Angels, Boys Kissing, Cute, Cute Castiel, Cute Dean, Cute Kids, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Falling Angels, Father Figures, Fledgling Castiel, Fledglings, Hurt Castiel, Kid Fic, Kissing, Multi, Omega Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Profound Bond, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Young Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theackles/pseuds/theackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deal leads a completely normal, sane life.<br/>Until he finds a fledgling angel holding onto his gutters for dear life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celestial Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Omg I didn't know what else to call this so I'mma call it celestial nightmare lololol because I plan on making Castiel a little shit.
> 
> I'm still trying to figure out the plot points and all that so idk how long it's going to be but we'll see i guess.
> 
> anyway please enjoy! kudos and comments are ALWAYS appreciated so if you have time to leave one please do :)

It had been a normal day.

Dean had gotten up, he ate bacon and eggs for breakfast with black coffee. He took a shower, got dressed, went to The Roadhouse, made some money. All like normal. He went to the grocery store to pick up some milk and eggs and some burgers, and then he started heading home after a quick chat on the phone with his younger brother, Sam, who was in his 4th year of Stanford’s Law Major in Cali.

A totally, boringly, normal day.

So how did he get here?

At first he was confused. He pulled the Impala into his driveway and pressed the button on the garage remote hooked to his keys to open his totally normal garage to his totally normal – and maybe a bit cliche – suburban home.

He killed the engine and didn’t even sit long enough to blink, and then there was a hard THUD! that hit the roof of his garage.

Dean jumped, like any normal sane person would do, and muttered a quick, “What the hell?” before springing up and running out of his garage. He stopped running at the end of his driveway where he got a clear view of the garage roof, where a fledgling Angel held on for it’s dear life to the gutters, feet kicking, black wings flapping and spasming in attempt to fly, and a loud, terrified, chirp/screech echoing off all the shady trees in people’s yards.

Dean ran back into the garage and grabbed the ladder, his legs frantic and running almost as fast as he could back outside where he propped the ladder against the siding of the house and began climbing.

Dean reached up and grabbed the fledgling’s foot that wasn’t even the length of his hand, in desperate attempt to get it to stop kicking long enough to grab him – Dean could see clearly now that this fledgling was in fact a boy, since the poor dude didn’t have a string of clothing on him.

“Hey, stop kicking!” Dean shouted over the scared chirping of the angel, discreetly praying it somehow already knew English.

The angel’s head snapped over to him, and Dean saw his bright blue eyes that were wide and glassy with tears. It obviously knew some form of English, because it stopped kicking, sort of, and instead reached one of it’s little arms out and made grabby motions towards Dean, small whimpers and sniffles replacing the ear-bleeding chirps.

“All right, okay,” Dean grunted, holding a hand out in surrender, completely about to reach over and grab the fledgling (that looked like it took form in  a 2-year-old body), but he, instead, took Dean’s hand of surrender as his life raft and grabbed Dean’s hand, wings flapping vigorously, and definitely let go of the gutters.

“Whoa!” Dean exclaimed, hands like lightning, and caught the little angel barely in time for him not to splat like a watermelon on his driveway pavement. Dean pulled the angel close to his body, and it wrapped it’s legs around Dean’s torso, arms grabbing around his neck, wings flapping in his face and, now that he could see them up close, very dirty raven feathers.

Soft, little breaths panted against Dean’s ear, coming out in quiet little chirps. Dean sighed, his mind completely blank, and climbed down from the ladder.

Before he could even think about what to do next or even what the hell just happened, he had to get this kid dressed. But he’d be damned if he was putting this dirty little fledgling in one of his awesome Led Zeppelin tees without a bath first.

With the angel clutching like a python around Dean’s side, Dean let one of his arm’s drop to unlock the side door from inside of the garage. He kicked the door open and flicked the light on. With a very tired sigh, he kicked his boots off and dragged himself and the shivering – and still whimpering – angel towards the bathroom.

“Alright, little...angel, fledgling, thing,” Dean grabbed under his arms and pulled a little, expecting him to let go, but he only tightened his grasp. Ugh. Right. “It’s time for a bath now.”

He felt like he was talking to himself, with no response, not even a chirp, just big, doe blue eyes staring at him as if he were some sort of unique thing instead of a normal human guy who really needed to shave.

“I don’t know if you can even understand me, but if you can, you need to let go, so I can give you a bath because, frankly, you stink. Like, really bad.”

The fledgling cocked it’s head to the side, and a small chirp left it’s mouth.

“Okay, we’re not getting anywhere.” Dean grunted to himself, and let the fledgling continue to suction cup himself to Dean’s side while he leaned down and turned on the bathwater.

And with a loud screech that made Dean cringe, the fledgling was suddenly gone – running out of the bathroom with it’s wings puffed up and flapping defensively as he disappeared around the corner and down the dark hall.

“Are you fucking serious…” Dean whined, feeling the water to make sure it was warm but not too warm, and plugged the drain, and let it run. He stood with an uncomfortable pop of his back and stalked off down the hallway to find this little guy.

He peaked inside the guest bedroom, where it was dark except the small streams of sunlight leaking in through the curtains. He flipped the light on and glanced around the bed and into the empty closet and came up with nothing, so he continued on to his room, where the angel was doing a very bad job at hiding.

He was tucked just around the corner of Dean’s bed, but one of his wings had puffed up so much they peeked up above the mattress, completely blowing the little fledgling’s cover.

Dean walked around the bed, very not in the mood to play games with this thing, and squatted down to look more like his size – he read somewhere by accident (very by accident) that if a fledgling felt intimidated by a human then to make yourself look smaller and equal.

“I know, you’re freaked out – I would be too if I hit a roof and some guy brought me inside to bathe me. Trust me. But you’re naked, and it’s bugging me, and I’m not putting you in any of my clothes until  you’re clean – we clear?”

Chirp.

“Right. Okay. I’m taking that as ‘Yes Dean, I understand, and I’ll get into a bath’.”

Without consent, Dean scooped the angel up and started back towards the bathroom where the water was about halfway up the tub. He kicked, loud chirps coming out as screeches a two year old would make if he were throwing a hissy fit. His wings puffed back up and flapped, hitting Dean’s back with it’s feathers.

Dean dumped him into the bathwater and shut the fogged glass sliding door before he had a chance to bite, or run off again, or whatever angel fledglings did when they were in for the kill.

Dean watched the fledgling closely. As soon as it’s bare butt touched the warm water, it stopped flipping the fuck out, and looked around curiously at the lower half of it’s body through the water. Dean watched as he wiggled his toes, and then he puffed his wings up and hesitantly dunked them down into the water.

And then – he splashed. Everywhere.

He acted like it was a damned swimming pool or something, leaping from one side to the other and splashing water up on the glass door and on the sides and flapping it’s soaked wings. He dunked his head down and popped back up with a curious smile on his face, wiping his tiny hands over his forehead to move the dark hair out of his large eyes.

Finally, Dean felt himself – sort of – relax. He left without the fledgling noticing and grabbed a beer out of the fridge, then popped it open as he collapsed on the really, really comfy couch. He shut his eyes – oh, sweet bliss.

Right. A fledgling – on his roof, sorta bruised, with a few scrapes that would heal lightning fast (in fact, they already did now that Dean thought about it), with big blue eyes and raven hair to go with his raven wings that were longer than his body and dragged on the floor and towered over his head.

How did a fledgling land on his roof if he couldn’t even fly? Surely no one put him up there on purpose.

God he needs books on this.

Maybe he should just clean the fledgling up and buy him a decent outfit and take him to the nearest fledgling shelter. They’d take care of him, keep him fed, know how to groom his wings, and they’d have other fledglings for him to play with. All Dean would have to do is buy him some damn clothes. He could sacrifice.

Dean didn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep until something wet and warm and chirping climbed on top of him.

Dean peeked through his eyes, trying to ignore the sunlight that burned them, to see the fledgling soaked and dripping and soapy on top of him, soaking straight through his jeans with his wings creating massive puddles on the wooden floors.

Suddenly Dean realized.

“WHOA!” Dean scooped him up, holding him a good arm’s length away and jogged back to the bathroom, trying – really, really trying – to ignore the absolute mess he’d made of the hallway and where he’d wandered into the kitchen, a steady stream from his wings creating a path into every room, probably in attempt to find Dean.

His bathroom was a disaster. He was a man, he didn’t cry often, but the sight of it made him want to weep.

With barely any water left in the tub, most of it soaked up in his wings, and the rest splattered on the walls and on the toilet and soaking through the stack of towels on the shelf, Dean shut the door and placed the angel on the toilet seat. He sighed at his sink – the jar that held the toothpaste and toothbrushes was knocked over, the soap was halfway down the drain, the mirror cabinet was splattered with water and open, all of the bottles of aspirin and extra soaps strewn across the bathroom with some fallen helplessly in the trashcan.

He couldn’t think that now – he had a game plan.

He grabbed the driest towel out of the stack and wrapped it around the angel, scooping him up and taking him to his bedroom where he – rougher than he should have, he knows – tossed him on the bed.

The fledgling made a small “oomph” sound and clutched curiously at the white towel, rubbing the fabric between his fingers and somehow escaping Dean’s tight knot he had him wrapped in. He pulled the towel up and let it fall over his head, small chirping noises of curiosity muffled under the fabric.

And then he fluffed his wings like a dog.

Water flew everywhere and Dean could probably miss a shower if he needed to.

He grabbed his oldest Led Zeppelin tee and tossed it on the bed. He didn’t have any diapers or angel underwear or whatever the hell the things wear, so as long as the angel didn’t strip out of the shirt, Dean could deal.

He grabbed the towel from the angel who was under it, still chirping curiously, and went to dry his hair first, until he saw the – god dammit – tremble of his bottom lip.

“No! Dammit. Don’t cry.” Dean begged, wrapping the towel around the angel and trying to get him to play with it again. “Stop crying, please! See? Like I never took it.” He tried, he really did, but the fledgling kept leaking tears out of his glassy blue eyes and kept whimpering and sniffling and letting out little cries that sounded 100% human that made Dean’s heart lurch.

Dean collapsed down on the bed beside of him in defeat, and less than an eyeblink later, the fledgling crawled up on Dean’s lap and grabbed at his damp shirt, curling in a small ball on his lap.

Dean grabbed the towel, then, and quickly massaged the wet out of the fledgling’s dark, curly hair. He tried to work on his wings as delicately as he could, because – again, very accidentally – read somewhere that fledgling’s feathers could be ripped out so easily you didn’t even have to try, and apparently it hurt like getting a joint ripped out of socket.

As much as he didn’t really want the little dude, he didn’t want him in pain or anything. He was cute, and oddly cuddly, and maybe a bit of a little shit (sort of like Sam when he was this age, or now, even.)

After the angel was only damp and the towel had soaked up most of the water, Dean put the shirt on the angel who had now dried his tears and plucked at the shirt curiously, like he had the towel.

Dean placed him on the floor, unable to hold back a laugh at most of the shirt pooling at his feet and his shoulders sort of falling through the neck opening and the tee’s short sleeves drooping down to his elbows.

Cute might’ve been an understatement.

Dean checked the clock. 6PM. He sighed when he realized the shelters were closed publicly by 3. He’d have to wait until tomorrow to take the dude, so he figured he’d just try to get him fed (do angels even eat?) and in bed (if he sleeps) and hope he’s a little less reckless tomorrow.

**Dean thanked God he didn’t have to work.**


End file.
